


Love Isn’t Always Fair

by CriedMore



Category: Black Veil Brides
Genre: Confessions, M/M, Reunions, Sad Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-24 01:27:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18561139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CriedMore/pseuds/CriedMore
Summary: In which Andy and Ashley have reunion, a conversation, and a realisation that nothing will change.





	Love Isn’t Always Fair

"Look...I know you don't want me here. I don't have to stay you know; you can just let me out here and I'll...go..." I said, even as I drunk in the features of a man I'd missed for so long.

 

A man who hated me. Despised my very existence.

 

Something that was displayed all too clearly by the tone of his next words: "Shut up, Purdy."

 

Purdy.

 

He called me Purdy now. Because I wasn't his 'Ashes' anymore - hell, I wasn't even 'Ashley'. Just 'Purdy'; we weren't engaged anymore...he wasn't my boyfriend, he wasn't even my friend. I didn't know what the hell we were - or why in the name of God he'd bothered to pull me out of that old apartment building where I had been planning to stay tonight. It wasn't like he lived or even had any reason to go to that neighbourhood anymore...the neighbourhood where we used to live...in fact, I'd been counting on the fact he'd avoid it like the plague. And then he hadn't: the bastard...and I didn't understand why.

I didn't want to see Andy. And Andy didn't want to see me

We had been engaged, we had been in love, and then I fucked it up - like I always did - so then we weren't anymore, and we hadn't seen each other in over three years since. It was that simple.

Simple enough that I should be over it by now.

Even so, tears threaten to spill as I huddled tighter into my old leather jacket (Andy's old leather jacket) and tried desperately not to look at Andy anymore. Seeing him hurt me, and not because he'd ended our engagement by fucking a woman in our bed when he knew I'd be coming home early: purposefully calling out that she was so much better than that slut he lived with, but because I was a fucking idiot and I had missed him.

And he hadn't thought of me for even a second. At least not positively.

From the way his hands were clenched on the steering wheel of his nice, shiney new car (so much better than the bucket of bolts truck we used to share), I guessed all the unpleasant memories were coming back to him.

 

"I'm sorry." I whispered: "I didn't mean for you to find me. I didn't even mean for you to know I was back in town; I no idea you would be anywhere near ou- that old place."

"I don't. But Jake's sister is still there, told me you were back..." Andy responded, his jaw tense with agitation and his face dark.

 

Had he come back to check on me? Make sure I was okay? Does he maybe...not hate me?

 

  
"...I had to make sure you didn't try and fuck up the good thing I've got going on now." came the nail in that coffin, Andy's voice as cold as ice, callous and uncaring: "And since I found you, I'll have my jacket back too."

 

Or maybe he does.

 

"Oh. Right. Sure." I choked, the tears actually spilling over my cheeks now, so that I had to turn my face away from Andy so he wouldn't see me being weak: "And I'm sorry. Again."

 

Andy drove as fast as he sensibly could through the flurries of snow, the houses we passed getting nicer and nicer the longer the silent journey stretched out. I supposed Andy really did have a nice thing going on right now...hell, who was I kidding? I knew exactly how well Andy was doing now; I'd been following his career since the day it started, even after we'd split up. His career as Andy Black was going from strength to strength. He had a platinum selling album, a new one in the works, a nice, sprawling apartment in an expensive part of L.A., a group of great friends in the industry, an engagement to a fellow musician...and generally a great life. Of course he didn't want me to fuck this up. His life was amazing.

  
I bit my lip hard and tried to smoother my whimper of disappointment. His life was great while mine was still fucked. I had a shitty job, well I'd had a shitty job; I didn't anymore since I'd been fired last week, and as of last week: I was homeless. I had no money: no food: no prospects. And to top it all off, I was now going to my ex's house to see how the man who had broken my heart was now living in luxury.

Life really was trying to kick me in the teeth this week.

 

"A-are you crying?"

I kept my head turned away: "No."

My words were perfectly steady; I'd always been good at keeping my emotions out of my voice...but Andy had always been equally good at knowing when I was lying: "Yes you are. Why are you crying?"

"I'm not crying." I continued to deny, refusing to look at Andy: even when one hand moved to rest on my forearm where it was wrapped tightly around my waist: "I'm not."

"You are, Ashley - and you're going to tell me why."

"Am not."

"Yes you will, or so help me God I will kick you out of this car!" he threatened, pulling over so he was idling by the curb.

I glared but shrugged his jacket off of my shoulders and threw it at his face, finally losing my temper: "Fine! Fuck you! I didn't want to go anywhere with you anyway."

 

Without a seconds more thought, I shoved the car door open and slid out into the rain.

I may not a lot of pride, but I did have some! And I was not going to be spoken to like some sort of errant, badly behaved child by my asshole of an ex-boyfriend. No chance! I wasn't getting back into the car, even if the cold sleet soaking through my hoodie turned back into snow, or hail, or fucking cats and dogs - Andy could just drive off without me, I didn't fucking care anymore. I allowed my anger to burn hot inside my chest: giving me the strength to keep going, away from Andy, away from the car, and away from all this stupid, toxic fucking bullshit. As much as it hurt to think, maybe I was better off without the jackass. He was a cheating asshole, after all, and although I'd still loved and carried a candle for him all this time...perhaps, just perhaps, I had gotten lucky that I'd left him when I had.

At least now I wasn't stuck with his sense of superiority and high handed behaviour. It was all his new fiancée's problem now - not mine.

Or it shouldn't have been: but somehow I wasn't surprised when a hand suddenly landed on my shoulder: twisting me round to face a pissed looking Andy glowering at me through the icy downpour. I didn't know why he was acting so angry; no one asked him to get out of the car. I pulled out of his grip, turned on my heel, and flipped him off over my shoulder as I walked off. Again.

I didn't get very far.

 

His hand landed on my shoulder again, tugging me back and urning me round to face him again, only to see he looked almost...hurt this time. "You'd rather walk though a January downpour than sit in a car and talk to me?"

"Obviously."

Andy looked stricken, an expression I hadn't seen since he had gotten the call that his grandfather had died: "Ashley...what did I d-do?"

Oh, so it's Ashley now, is it? Fuck you, buddy - I ain't falling for that. I refused to be sucked in by his hurt expression, stoking my anger enough to reply sarcastically: "Well, for starters you kicked me out of your car."

"I just wanted you to tell me why you were crying!" he yelled, his upset turning into an anger to match my own.

"My reasons are none of your business!" I retorted, screaming at him now: "Not anymore! You have no right to drag me around, treat me like some sort of misbehaving child, just so you can show off how great your life is without me! I get it, Andy, you don't love me. You never did! Not with the way you cheated on me in our bed when you knew I would be coming home to find you! Fuck you and your sense of self-superiority: cheating on me was the best thing you ever did for me! At least it made me fucking end it, since you didn't have the balls."

 

I watched the hurt in Andy's eyes intensify, feeling a sick sense of satisfaction as I turned and walked away. Hopefully for good this time.

  
  
Now maybe he'd hurt like I had.

 

But things never seemed to go my way when Andy was involved: and for a third time tonight, I was stopped by one of his hands clamping down on my shoulder, stopping me from storming away like I wanted to. The bastard! I rounded on him, ready to lay into him again, when I saw the tears streaming down his face, and I paused.

Andy never cried. Only once had he ever broken down when around me...and I could read from the look on his face, he was about to make it twice.

 

"How can you say that to me?!" he screamed: "I adored you! I would've worshipped the dirt you stepped on if you'd asked me! I only slept with Belle because you slept with Kelly first!"

"I never!"

"Yes you did! You did, and she told me herself - she showed me pictures, Ashley! Pictures! Of you two in bed together - do you have any idea how much that tore me apart?!" Andy roared, sobbing now.

Despite myself, I could stop pulling him into a tight embrace: pulling his head down to rest in the crook of my neck: "I didn't sleep with her." I whispered furiously: "I. Would. Never. Those pictures were old, Andy. From when I was with her before I even met you."

"But you had the tattoo. The one you got for me." he whispered brokenly.

 

I didn't know what to do.

Andy had always been so strong, so sure. It had been me who needed the reassurances and comforting. But now the roles were reversed, and...and I didn't know what to do.

There was no way I could doubt him; the conviction in his words told me that he was utterly convinced that I had cheated on him - and I didn't blame him. I'd seen the pictures he was talking about; Kelly had sent them to me first, but I'd known they were fake. I never thought she'd show them to Andy. He wouldn't know that they were fake. How could he have known about Kelly's skills with photo manipulation and digital art in general? She had made a convincing piece of evidence for our non-existent affair. And I knew that right now, Andy was, in his mind, rightly furious with me.

But that didn't eliminate the hurt of the past three years. Or the way my heart had broken when I had caught him in bed with the woman he was now engaged to.

Somehow, though, I couldn't leave him in the rain to suffer. Maybe because I still loved Andy, just as much as I hated him. Maybe because I was a complete and total idiot. Either way: never, ever, would I leave him alone to cry. Not for anything, even my own pride.

 

"Kelly was a genius when it came to manipulating photos, Ands." I sighed, pushing my hair out of my face: "All she would've needed was few more recent photos of me, and she could have made those photos look genuine. Especially if you were looking more at the photo as a whole and not the small details. I'm sorry that she put you through all that."

  
               
And sorry that you believed her, I thought, taking a step away from the tearful man in front of me.

 

"You...you mean you never...?"

I shook my head: "No, Andy. I never slept with Kelly after I got with you. Why would I? You were all I ever wanted and needed. No-one could've compared you, even if I wanted to look elsewhere - and even if you hadn't been, you know how much fidelity means to me."

               

With a heart-wrenching sob, Andy crumbled forwards against my chest, breaking down in every sense of the word: his legs unable to support the weight of the new information he'd just learned, and the emotional distress is was causing him. Without any other options (I could hardly leave him crying in this cold January rain) I led him back to his car, bundling him into the backseat and, after turning the heaters on full-blast, climbing in after him. I pulled him against my chest, leaning back and just allowing him to cry. The younger man cried so rarely, I didn't know what else to do but just hold him through it: hushing him softly and trying to comfort him by rubbing small circles against his back. If it was anyone else I knew, I would know exactly what to do to help them, but not with Andy. I had no idea where I stood with Andy. Did this mean he didn't hate me anymore? Or was I just convenient to him in this moment of time? Were we friends? Or would he push me away again once his tears were over with? There was no way of telling, not with Andy.

So I just had to go with it.

I allowed Andy to cry into my shoulder for as long as he needed too: murmuring comforting bits of nonsense under my breath - that it was fine, it was going to be okay, he was doing great - while rubbing his back. Eventually his sobs turned to whimpers, and then those whimpers turned into sniffles, until eventually Andy was just leaning silently against me: the tension growing between us with every passing second. It was almost unbearable - and I wanted out. Out of this car, away from Andy, and back to my own life before he had ever pulled up beside me as I walked through the rain.

Before I could manage that, though, I had to disentangle myself from the man currently wrapped around me. Despite seeming to be over his emotional breakdown, Andy was still appeared to be perfectly happy to stay curled up against my chest. But that just wouldn't do.

I needed out.

  
                  
As soon as I moved to push Andy away, though, he tightened his arms around my ribs: "Please Ashley...don't..."

I sighed, but settled back against the seat...if only so that I could at least be physically comfortable as we got into what was sure to be an argument that was certainly going to be emotionally excruciating: "I can't stay, Andy."

"I don't want you to leave me, though."

"Well, you don't always get what you want." I said bluntly: "Whatever we had together, Andy, is over. We made sure of that years ago. The longer we drag this out, the more painful it's going to be for both of us. You've got your jacket back, I've got my...I don't know, closure, or whatever. So it's best we go our separate ways now."

Andy remained silent for a few moments, before he slowly unclenched his hands from my hoodie: "I won't keep you stuck in this car if you don't want to be here. But...Ashley, I need you to know that I'm sorry."

"And I accept your apology." I nodded: "But you've got your girlfriend, and I've got my shit going on: we've both moved on. It's okay, and I'm grateful for your apology, but that's the end of it."

"It doesn't have to be."

"...No." I sighed: "But it should be. We can't be friends, Andy. I'm sorry."

 

I got no response, but when I shifted to open the car door, Andy made no move to stop me this time. All I got was his fingers loosening on the fabric of my hoodie until his grip was almost nonexistent...and then it was gone entirely.

Just like our relationship.

Getting out of the car was possibly the hardest thing I'd ever done...until, once I was out, I had to walk away from it - and Andy - without looking back so much as once. I knew that if I did, if I saw the pain I knew would be written all over his face, then my resolve would crumble, and I wouldn't be able to leave. I was barely strong enough the first time I had to leave him: I wouldn't be able to do it again.

  
  
"I love you!"

 

I turned to see that, once again, Andy was out of the car: standing in the icy sleet, the cold water soaking him through until his hair was plastered to his head, leaving his big, pleading blue eyes exposed.

  
  
"I love you, Ashley. I've always loved you. I never stopped."

"I love you too - started the day I met you, and it's never gone away."I admitted softly, watching as Andy's face lit up...my stomach dropping at the knowledge that I was going to snuff that light out: "But love isn't always enough. And this is one of those times."  
  
“But that’s not fair...”  
  
“No. It isn’t.”

**Author's Note:**

> So, I wrote all of this on my iPad, so it might have a few formatting/spelling errors - please forgive me until I can go back and edit them on a computer.


End file.
